by Laney Cairo
"Hello, Mrs. Pocock,” he said. “How are you? Did you sleep last night? Have you had some breakfast?"
"Can't eat,” she said, pursing her lips. “It all just repeats on me something cruel. Can't sleep, either. It's no good, Doctor. I can't keep on like this."
Nick surreptitiously checked Mrs. Pocock's skin for tenting while he took her pulse, and the old dear was dehydrated. “I agree,” he said. “I want to take you to Albany for the day, to have a procedure done."
"I'm not dying off the farm,” Mrs. Pocock said. “You can't take me away from here."
"There won't be any dying happening anytime soon,” Nick said reassuringly. “I want to put a tube in your stomach, so you can eat through the tube, and I want to do it at Albany hospital. No reason you won't still be here when Janie gets married, as far as I can see."
The lips relaxed a little, the cat opened one yellow eye and winked at Nick, and the old woman's pulse took a bit of a bound.
"Who's been talking?” Mrs. Pocock demanded. “Has anyone been saying anything about Janie?"
"Not as far as I know, and Josh tells me everything he hears,” Nick said. “Ah, here's Janie's mum coming in the house, I must go have a word with her."
Mrs. Pocock the Younger was a stout woman with strong capable hands and a short temper, presumably made that way by her large family. Underneath the caked-on mud, she looked genuinely worried about her mother-in-law, and she took the suggestion of the old dear going to Albany for surgery well, despite it being seeding time.
Between the three of them they wrapped Nanna Pocock up warmly. She weighed almost nothing in Nick's arms when Nick carried the old girl out to his van. He strapped her to the gurney in the back, while her daughter-in-law and granddaughter hugged her and she lectured them about looking after her cat.
When he drove off, bumping down the rutted track to the highway, he could hear her admonishing him about his driving over the clatter of the van.
* * * *
Marsia grabbed Nick's arm as he walked out of Mrs. Pocock's room, and he let her drag him off to her office.
"Want some tea?” she asked, and he groaned in anticipation.
"Please,” he said. “A life without caffeine is hard to take.” Marsia had comfortable chairs in her office, worn and marked, but with thick padding on the seats, and Nick settled into one gratefully.
Marsia had a kettle in the room, and a tiny fridge. Nick wasn't used to the humming and buzzing that went with electrical appliances, so he was acutely aware of them.
While the kettle gurgled, Marsia found two mugs from a cupboard, and put a tin of tea leaves in front of Nick enticingly. “Tempted?” she asked, and they both laughed.
"I know, I know,” Nick said. “Come and work for you and you'll give me caffeine."
"You know you want to,” she said, still chuckling.
"If I didn't have Josh, I might,” Nick said. “But there's no real future for him in Albany. At Jerramungup, there's the farm for him. He'll never be short of food."
Marsia was older than Nick, and had lived through as much as he had, and she nodded, suddenly serious. “Of course. I must admit I get uneasy living in a population centre like Albany,” she said. “I keep looking at how much there is here; the wind farm, the bio plant at Narrikup, the army base. Someone, somewhere, must want all of this."
The kettle boiled and clunked, and Marsia stood up and poured water into the mugs and spooned in tea, then took a bottle of milk out of her insulin fridge.
The first taste was heaven, making Nick smile and close his eyes for a moment in bliss, but he opened his eyes again when Marsia said, “I have a favor to ask of you. If you do this, I'll give you my canister of tea."
"What favor?” Nick said. “And as always, it's equipment I really want, not tea."
"Sure, supplies instead,” Marsia said. “I've got a patient here, and he can't really stay. Can you take him for me? Look after him?"
"What's wrong with him?” Nick asked. “Can he work? If he can, I'm sure he can find a home in Jerramungup, especially at seeding."
"Fractured femoral shaft,” Marsia said. “I did an open reduction a week ago, and I need the bed, so I need to move him somewhere."
"He's not from here?” Nick said, frowning.
Marsia shook her head. “He was crew on a freighter that docked last week, broke his leg only a day out from Albany, or else he wouldn't have survived. No idea where he's from originally, but he speaks English as though it's his first language."
Nick thought about the idea, turned it over in his head. “None of the families here can take him?” he asked. “He must have scrip if he worked on a freighter."
Marsia shook her head. “No. There were refugees on the ship, and the town has given priority to placing them. Can you take him?"
He needed medical supplies urgently; oxytocin, anesthetic, suture thread, needles, dressing kits; and he didn't have the scrip to pay for them. Feeding a stranger for a few weeks would be a small price to pay.
"All right,” Nick said. “I'll take him back with me. He can talk to Mrs. Pocock for the ride home."
Jenny Duggan's cafe was like a trip back in time, full of the intense scent of coffee and the floral waft of cakes, and Nick sat down at one of the tables and breathed in deeply.
Jenny was there, wrapped up in an apron, big-hipped and smooth-skinned, and Nick smiled widely at seeing her.
"Hello, Dr. Nick,” she called out from behind the counter. “What would you like?"
"Coffee, please,” Dr. Nick said, smiling at her. “And a lamington cake, and a few minutes of your company, before I have to go back to the hospital."
Jenny chuckled, and winked at him. “Not a problem,” she said. “Thought you might want to buy some of my jam, too."
"I do,” Nick said. “Or Josh will sulk for a week."
"Can't have that,” Jenny said, coming over to the table with a mug on a saucer and a plate with a cube of chocolate and coconut encrusted cake. She put them in front of Nick and then sat down opposite him in the otherwise empty cafe. “So, what have you been up to?” she asked. Her smile was undeniably flirtatious, and Nick couldn't help but flirt back.
Mrs. Pocock had recovered from her PEG insertion enough to be annoying the staff when Nick checked on her.
"I want to go home, Doctor,” she said. “I'm sure they're not looking after Tiger properly."
Nick took her hand and rubbed at the loose dry skin over her knuckles. She had some spring in the skin now, so her hydration was picking up.
"She's had 500 mls, Doctor,” the nurse at the end of the bed said. “And has passed a small amount of urine."
"Then I think it's time for you to go home,” Nick said, smiling at Mrs. Pocock. “And you can make sure Tiger has had his dinner."
Once Mrs. Pocock was dressed and wrapped up warm, ready to be carried out to the van, Marsia took Nick to meet the man with the broken leg who would be staying with them.
Marsia said, “This is Dr. Nick. He's agreed to take you back to his town to recover, Samuel."
Nick smiled at the young man in the bed, and said, “Hi, I'm Nick. I hope you'll be comfortable with us, Samuel."
Samuel was young, not much more than Josh's age, and he had the dark skin and hair of more than half the world's population. Apart from the cast on his leg, he looked fit and healthy.
Samuel smiled back at Nick, and his teeth were even and white, so he'd either come from damned good genetic stock or he'd lived a privileged life.
"Thank you, Dr. Nick,” Samuel said, and he had the rich accent of South America, at least to Nick's ear. “I'll help out as much as I can. I worked in the engine room of the freighter, so I can fix pumps and things."
"Excellent,” Nick said, finding himself grinning back at Samuel. “If Dr. Marsia had told me this, we wouldn't have spent quite so much time loading supplies into my van. Are you ready to go? We've got a long drive ahead of us, and it's nearly dark already."
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Chapter Two
The van they were to leave in made Samuel shake his head involuntarily as he hobbled on crutches across the forecourt. A producer gas unit dangled off the back, belching out carbon monoxide no doubt, and the wheels were solid wood. The van looked like it ran on good luck and will power.
When Samuel propped his crutches against the passenger side and levered himself into the front seat, a querulous old woman in the back said, “Who's that? Who are you? Dr. Nick! Dr. Nick!"
Dr. Nick hopped in behind the steering wheel and turned his head to look into the back of the van. “It's all right, Mrs. Pocock. This is Samuel, he's coming to help me on the farm."
"He's got a broken leg,” Mrs. Pocock said. “He won't be able to work."
Dr. Nick laughed and shook his head at the woman. “I had noticed, Mrs. Pocock; I am a doctor."
Dr. Nick pushed the van into gear and hauled the handbrake off, the clutch ground, and the van lurched forward into the rainy night.
It took a few minutes to make their way through the outlying suburbs of Albany, houses and warehouses mostly hidden by the rain. Then Dr. Nick pushed the van into top gear and they began to build up speed, cruising down the hills with the cold damp wind whistling through the perished door seals, before slowing down and dropping back a gear to make it up the next slope.
The windscreen wipers swished away, but the van's headlights didn't penetrate very far into the darkness, and Samuel wasn't sure how Dr. Nick could manage to see to drive.
The vibrations hurt his leg as the van rattled over the potholed road, and it was cold and very dull, listening to the old lady drone on and hearing Dr. Nick's economical replies to her questions. Samuel began to nod off.
Something flickered in the darkness ahead of them, several somethings, leaping across the road like they were avoiding the headlights, and Dr. Nick braked the van hard, muttering under his breath.
"Owww,” Mrs. Pocock complained as Samuel grabbed his sore leg to hold it steady, and panic poured into his veins.
Shapes jumped in and out of the lights, as big as large dogs, pitch black with red eyes reflecting in the headlights. Samuel crossed himself reflexively as Dr. Nick brought the van to a skittering halt.
"La Madre de Dios,” Samuel said, voice shaking, and he would have given anything to still be wearing the cross his mother had given him years ago. “Who are they?"
"What?” Dr. Nick said. “What are they? They're devils.” He leant across the cab of the van and rummaged around in the glove box and picked out a painted stone. “Stay in the van,” he said.
"Devils!” Mrs. Pocock wailed, and she began to bang her hands against the side of the van.
The things, the devils, seemed to have noticed them; they were milling around in the headlights, staring up at Samuel, pink tongues hanging out, red jaws and white teeth gleaming.
A little one jumped up, at the windscreen, snarling and hissing, clinging onto the vehicle with vicious claws, and Samuel was so scared that getting out of the van was an impossibility even without a broken leg.
"Bugger,” Dr. Nick said, and he undid his seat belt and opened the car door.
Samuel watched, stunned, as Dr. Nick walked out into the crowd of those... things and waved the painted rock around. The things, the devils, scattered, scampering off into the darkness, even the one that had been eyeing Samuel through the windscreen.
"What?” was all Samuel could make himself say over the banging from the back of the van, and Dr. Nick climbed back into the driver's seat and leaned over the back.
"It's all right, Mrs. Pocock,” he said reassuringly. “They're all gone, you're quite safe."
He sat back down and did his seatbelt back up, and Samuel repeated, “What? What were they? Were they demons?"
"Devils,” Dr. Nick said. “And, just as a courtesy while you're on Noongar land, don't make the sign of the cross on your body. It's exceedingly bad manners."
Samuel blinked, and the van lurched forward once again, shaking his bones.
"The stone?” he said. “Was that magic?"
Dr. Nick shook his head. “Not really. It's a travel stone, given to me by the Feathermen to guarantee me and my vehicle safe passage through their land. The devils should have respected it. I shouldn't have had to get out and tell them to move."
Second gear, third gear, grind and crunch each time.
"Feathermen?” Samuel finally said. “Who are they? More creatures?"
"Feathermen are the clever men, the leaders, of the Noongars. They're people."
The rain had eased up a little and the van picked up speed in the darkness, rattling and bouncing over the rough road, until Samuel was sure he could feel the broken bits of his thigh bone grinding together.
He was tired, his leg was aching, and the old woman in the back of the ambulance was talking to herself quietly. There were... things... moving around in the darkness, Samuel was sure, half-seen shapes slipping behind half-seen trees. It wasn't until a kangaroo bounced across the road in the headlights that Samuel realized that he wasn't seeing demons or ghosts, but ordinary animals, and the surges of panic began to ease.
It was a comforting thought, even if the kangaroo did seem to be about four times larger than he expected, coming right up level with the top of the van. It wouldn't be good to hit one of them, they must weigh as much as a human.
It was late when Dr. Nick shook Samuel's arm to wake him up, and Samuel couldn't quite believe he'd fallen asleep, but maybe he'd dreamt the devils, maybe he'd hallucinated them.
Dr. Nick helped Samuel out of the van and walked slowly beside him, and Samuel leaned heavily on his crutches in the mud. Someone was standing in the doorway of a house he could just see through the rain, lantern in their hands, and it looked like he'd found somewhere to stay.
* * * *
Samuel woke in the damp cold, but it was too still and too quiet to be the freighter. Birds were calling, a dog barked in the distance, and he remembered he was on a farm.
He'd gone to sleep with his clothes on, so once he located his crutches in the dark room and worked out how to lever himself upright, he was free to hobble to the bathroom.
Dr. Nick had shown him the piss bucket the night before, and Samuel was glad that was all he needed because rain was drumming steadily on the metal roof and the actual toilet was across a garden from the house.
Neither of the light switches he tried worked, just clicking backward and forward, but a faint light shone from another room, the kind of golden glow that meant a fire.
A young man looked up and nodded as Samuel entered the room. The stranger was dressed in muddy and tattered clothes, sat at a bare table in what must be the kitchen with a plate of bread in front of him.
Samuel vaguely remembered meeting him the night before while he was mostly asleep. Josh, that was his name.
"Morning,” Josh said. “Want some bread and jam? The jam is excellent. I've got the kettle on, too."
"Please,” Samuel said, as he leaned his crutches against the table and lowered himself into a chair. Light came in through the window now, faint and pale, so it wasn't the middle of the night as Samuel had thought. It showed an austere room, with clothes propped on racks in front of the fire and shelves full of jars, with sacks of dried goods along the wall behind Samuel.
He could smell something weird, over the obvious scent of the bread and jam, steaming clothes, and the wood fire. It smelled fatty, and not very pleasant. Josh bit into his slab of bread and jam and lifted an eyebrow.
"What's that smell?” Samuel asked.
Josh sniffed, then lifted his hand across the table to hold it closer to Samuel. “That?” Josh asked, and Samuel nodded and wrinkled his nose involuntarily. It smelled like an animal had died on Josh's hand.
"Lanolin,” Josh said. “If you put it on your hands, it stops them from cracking in the cold. There's a tub of it by the backdoor, next to the wash trough there. You'll need it if you're going to help out h
ere."
"What is it?” Samuel asked, finding himself watching Josh's hands carefully while he cut a slab of bread then pushed it across the table to Samuel.
"Wool fat,” Josh said, as though that answered everything. “Where you from?"
"Guyana,” Samuel said, and Josh looked at him blankly. “South America, next to Brazil."
"Guess you don't have sheep there,” Josh said. “I've never met someone from South America before. What's it like?"
Samuel glanced out of the window to where the grey outline of trees was visible through the rain. “Warm,” he said. “How come your lights don't work?"
"No electricity here,” Josh said. “There used to be, but it stopped working years ago. Something about the solar array, I think. I was just a kid at the time, so I don't remember."
"I can fix arrays,” Samuel said. “Show me where the panels are, and the batteries, and I'll see if I can get the system going again."
Josh nodded and rubbed a hand over his cropped dark hair, then picked up his slab of bread. “Sure,” he said, and he waited while Samuel found his crutches and pushed himself upright.
The wooden boards were cold and gritty under Samuel's bare feet, and when Josh pushed the screen door open and held it for Samuel, a black and white dog lifted his nose hopefully.
"That's Harold,” Josh said. “Don't let him in the house. All the panels are there, on the shed roof,” he said, and he pointed out through the rain at an outbuilding the size of the house. “Don't know where the batteries are, but Dad will know when he comes in from seeding. He's on the tractor for the morning, giving me a break, since I worked all night."
Samuel looked at Josh with new respect, and he began to suspect that Josh wasn't disinterested or stupid, just exhausted.
The area at the back of the house, up to the wire fence that Samuel could see, was vegetables; at least the plants he could recognize were. He could see trees, too, around the edge of the garden, and sheep just visible through the rain on the other side of the fence. The ground smelled different, not rich and loamy like he was used to, but sharp and slippery, and the soil between the plants was made up of wet red gravel.